17 Nannies Whose Adventures Could Fill a Best-Selling Novel

Some people view nannying as a simple job. Tasks like feeding children, reading them stories, and putting them to bed seem routine. However, that’s not always true. The people featured in our article shared their experiences caring for other people’s children, and now we wouldn’t dream of calling this profession dull.

I was 13 and was babysitting my neighbors’ kids. It was my first time, so the parents walked me through all the rules about the bathroom, TV, food, bedtime, etc. Just as the parents were taking off for the night, the mom came back in and whispered to me, “Don’t go into the basement.” As a teenager in the 80s, my mind went to all of the scariest movies that had basements. I avoided the door to the basement all night until I had put the kids to bed.
Then I walked slowly to the door and put my ear against it. I heard what sounded like whimpering. And then it sounded like sad laughing. I ran to the couch and started watching TV to get my mind off of it, but then I heard something fall in the basement and knew someone was down there. I really don’t know how I got the courage/stupidity to do it, but I went over and opened the door. The whining instantly got louder.
I went down just 3 or 4 stairs, so I could peek down… and I saw… a goat. Not a ghost. A goat. As soon as the goat saw me, he started bleating loudly. It scared me. I went upstairs, and the goat was still bleating loudly, so much that it woke up the kids.
The oldest girl came out and said, “Did you open the door to the basement?” I said, “Yeah, why?” She said, “When you do that, Carlos thinks you’re going to feed him, and he starts yelling.” Thank god I knew it was a goat first, because if she had said that before I went down, I would’ve thought Carlos was some kidnapped person in the basement who would yell for food.
It was very funny to me. The mom came home and I told her what happened, and she almost died laughing. They were repairing the goat pen and had to keep him in the basement for a few days. I still remember every moment of that night vividly. © Unknown author / RedditIn my early twenties, I would babysit a set of twins on the weekend once in a while. Their mom was super beautiful, and she was always going on dates.
One night, she told me she met a guy and was going on a date with him. She left at 6 and said she’d be back around midnight. Well, pushing 1 a.m., I’m thinking maybe she’s running late. 2 a.m., 3 a.m… I’m calling and calling her and finally her phone just goes to voice mail. I wake up, and it’s 7 a.m. and she still isn’t back.
I finally found the grandparent’s number in an address book. I call her parents, and they don’t even seem phased. They just seem annoyed like this is business as usual but tell me they’ll be over to sit with the twins, so I can leave. I call the non-emergency police number and explain what’s going on and that the grandparents are on their way.
I stick around for another hour, and then she pulls up wearing a men’s t-shirt, and heels, and she’s laughing. She says jokingly, “Oh my god! Call the police!” I never sat for her again. She just ended up staying with the guy all night and turned her phone off so she couldn’t be bothered. She truly thought I’d dismiss it like it was no big deal. © Kikabennet / Reddit

  • The dad of the kids I watched liked me on Tinder. Then, when I told his wife, and she didn’t believe me, he convinced her that “his Facebook was hacked.” The kids were almost always wonderful. © marymoon77 / Reddit
  • I work as a nanny in the family of a big businessman. At first, I worked several times a week, then I started living in their house. The head of the family works almost round the clock, his wife doesn’t notice anything but clothes, spas, and fitness.
    Yesterday, their 5-year-old son stole money from his father’s safe, came to me, and said we should run away together. I returned the money immediately, but how to explain to a child why I love him more than his mother, I don’t know… © Overheard / Ideer
  • I’m a nanny, and I heard her first word (it was hippo). But the family won’t ever know that. Some secrets are better to keep. © positivityfox / Reddit
  • First babysitting job at 13. Four kids. My parents gave me a whole fresh salmon to COOK and serve the kids. I learned that day that salmon has pin bones when I had to pull some out of the 3-year-old’s throat while simultaneously calling my parents down the road because I didn’t know what to do, as he was coughing and gasping for air. He was fine, but I think I lost 10 years of my life that day. © nah2daysun / Reddit
  • A lady tried to dump 2 extra kids on me without paying when she realized I was babysitting her neighbor’s kids. Her rationale was that I was already babysitting 2 kids and 2 more wasn’t that much, so I should watch her kids for free and let them eat her neighbor’s food. © CaptDeliciousPants / Reddit
  • I’m not a nanny, but I’ve been babysitting a girl on and off from when she was 5 to 7 now.
    Her: What is that?
    Me: Pineapple
    Her: Oh, I’ve never had pineapple.
    Me: Do you want to try it?
    She does this about everything, too. I asked her mom if she had ever had pineapple, and she was like of course, she has! Then I realized she was just trying to eat my food. © Kacidillaa / Reddit
  • I nannied for a wealthy couple, and the husband had a study in the house that the wife joked about never being allowed in. Now, I’m nosy, and I was curious about why you wouldn’t let someone in a study, especially since it looked like a fairly normal room: big desk, walls covered in bookshelves, books of architecture everywhere.
    So one day I just roamed around in there. I didn’t find anything, and I was kinda disappointed, but then I grabbed a book off one of the shelves. The thing had money pressed between its pages — about $500 if I had to guess. Picked up another book, and found the same thing.
    I think I checked like ten different books, and every single one had money hidden in it. Still not sure if the dude was just paranoid about banks or if he was intentionally hiding money from his wife. © Unknown author / Reddit
  • I babysat two neighbor kids one time. I had a lot of experience babysitting, but it was my first time with this particular family. The little boy was about 5, and the little girl was maybe 7. Their parents left very specific instructions for bedtime, and they were kept on a very strict schedule. I thankfully had my best friend with me at the time, we were probably 15.
    Bedtime came around, and after several warnings, we told them it was time to get upstairs, get into PJs, and carry on with their bedtime routine. They went ballistic. The little boy started tearing the cushions off their leather couch, tossing them everywhere, and biting a hole in the arm of the couch. While I was trying to deal with him, my best friend was trying to get the little girl upstairs when she ran into the kitchen, dumped their entire mop bucket of dirty water on the floor, and started sliding around in it. As soon as the couch-chewer saw the fun his sister was having, he joined in.
    I ended up calling my mom for reinforcement, and never babysat for that family again. © soxxyrocks / Reddit
  • So the father of the kid works for a major athletic apparel company, and every year they need to test the upcoming year’s potential pieces. To do that, the company sends one of every potential piece to all female employees and female spouses.
    Well, the mother is pregnant right now and can’t fit into any of the items, so the father made me a cup of tea and asked me to sit down in the living room (what he does whenever he wants to talk to me about something) and says, “I know we’re not paying you to do this, but would you be willing to test all of the sample pieces my company sent me? You can keep them afterward.”
    Yes! Y’all, no kidding, he just handed me 6 boxes of athletic clothing that have to total thousands of dollars. © pineappleprincesspie / Reddit
  • I was in the living room, watching Sister, Sister,when all of a sudden I heard a man say, “Hello.” I check the front door and look out the window at the driveway, the parents aren’t home. Go upstairs and check the kids, they’re both still in bed.
    Go back downstairs, and hear it again, from the darkened dining room, “Hello, I am Armando.” They had a parrot. © Unknown author / Reddit
  • I only babysat once, and it was nothing horrible. These people had a huge rich house, and everything looked great, but when it was time for the kids’ bed, I figured I’d read them a bedtime story. I searched through that magnificent house and couldn’t find a single solitary book. © TRIGMILLION / Reddit
  • So, it is that time of the month for me. I go into the bathroom, and while unwrapping a feminine hygiene product, the kid yells from outside the door, “I can hear you eating candy in there!” It made my day and made me wish that I was eating candy. © HalleysComet5 / Reddit
  • I was working as a nanny, and the children’s mother once told me, “My husband doesn’t think we should pay you for when the girls are sleeping…” They were 4 months and 2 years old.
    I was a junior in high school and responded, “Okay, so should I duck out once I tuck them in?” I wouldn’t have done that, but I think at that point she realized how ridiculous her request was. © reckate / Reddit
  • I had a phone interview with a mom that went well, so we met in person for a second interview with her husband and 4 children. It went well until she explained her nanny was fired for having an affair with her husband and how their new nanny needed better morals and to limit her interaction with her husband (who was sitting there the whole time with us).
    I’ve never felt more awkward in my whole life as she told me that I’m pretty but thankfully not his type as he just nodded his head. I just find it irritating how it’s the nanny’s fault when her husband also had the affair, and how the nanny needs morals when her husband doesn’t. So yeah, definitely not accepting this job! © thisisdevon- / Reddit

Working as a regular nanny is challenging enough, so imagine being a nanny for a royal family. There are strict rules to follow, such as being allowed to wear only specific types of jewelry.

The HOA President Fined Me Over My Lawn – I Provided Him with More Reasons to Pay Attention

Larry, our clipboard-wielding HOA dictator, had no idea who he was messing with when he fined me for my lawn being half an inch too long. I decided to give him something to really look at, a lawn so outrageous, yet so perfectly within the rules, that he’d regret ever starting this fight.

For decades, my neighborhood was the kind of place where you could sip tea on your porch in peace, wave to the neighbors, and not worry about a thing.

Then Larry got his grubby hands on the HOA presidency.

Oh, Larry. You know the type: mid-50s, born in a pressed polo shirt, thinks the world revolves around his clipboard. From the moment he took office, it was like someone handed him the keys to a kingdom.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

Now, I’ve been living here for twenty-five years. Raised three kids in this house. Buried a husband too. And you know what I’d learned?

Don’t mess with a woman who’s survived kids and a man who thought barbeque sauce was a vegetable. Larry clearly didn’t get that memo.

Ever since I skipped his precious HOA meeting last summer, he’s been out for blood. Like I needed to hear two hours of droning on about fence heights and paint colors. I had more important things to do — like watching my begonias bloom.

It all started last week.

I was out on the porch, minding my business, when I spotted Larry marching up the driveway, clipboard in hand.

“Oh, here we go,” I muttered, already feeling my blood pressure spike.

He stopped right at the foot of the steps, and didn’t even bother with a hello.

“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, his voice dripping with condescension. “I’m afraid you’ve violated the HOA’s lawn maintenance standards.”

I blinked at him, trying to keep my temper in check. “Is that so? The lawn’s been freshly mowed. Just did it two days ago.”

“Well,” he said, clicking his pen like he was about to write me up for a felony, “it’s half an inch too long. HOA standards are very clear about this.”

I stared at him. Half. An. Inch. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His smug little grin told me otherwise.

“We have standards here, Mrs. Pearson. If we let one person get away with neglecting their lawn, what kind of message does that send?”

Oh, I could’ve throttled him right there. But I didn’t. Instead, I just smiled sweetly and said, “Thanks for the heads-up, Larry. I’ll be sure to trim that extra half-inch for you.”

Inside, though? I was fuming. Who did this guy think he was? Half an inch?

I’ve survived diaper blowouts, PTA meetings, and a husband who once tried to roast marshmallows using a propane torch. I wasn’t about to let Larry the Clipboard King push me around.

That night, I sat in my armchair, stewing over the whole thing. I thought about all the times in my life I’d been told to “follow the rules,” and how I’d managed to bend them just enough to keep my sanity.

If Larry wanted to play hardball, fine. Two could play that game.

And then it hit me: the HOA rulebook. That stupid, dusty old thing Larry was always quoting. I hadn’t bothered with it much over the years, but now it was time to get acquainted.

I flipped through it for a good hour, and there it was. Clear as day. Lawn decorations, tasteful, of course, were completely allowed, as long as they stayed within certain size and placement guidelines.

Oh, Larry. You poor, unfortunate soul. You had no idea what you’d just unleashed.

The very next morning, I went on the shopping spree of a lifetime. It was glorious. I bought gnomes. Not just any gnomes, though, giant ones. One was holding a lantern, another was fishing in a little fake pond I set up in the garden.

And an entire flock of pink, plastic flamingos. I clustered them together like they were planning some sort of tropical rebellion.

Then came the solar lights. I lined the walkway, the garden, and even hung a few in the trees. By the time I was done, my yard looked like a cross between a fairy tale and a Florida souvenir shop.

And the best part? Every single piece was perfectly HOA-compliant. Not a single rule was broken. I leaned back in my lawn chair, watching the sun set behind my masterpiece.

The twinkling lights came to life, casting a warm glow over my gnome army and the flamingo brigade. It was, in a word, glorious.

But Larry, oh Larry, was not going to take this lying down.

The first time he saw my yard, I knew I had him. I was watering the petunias when I spotted his car creeping down the street. His windows rolled down, his eyes narrowing as they scanned every inch of my lawn.

The way his jaw clenched, his fingers tight on the steering wheel — it was priceless. He slowed to a crawl, staring at the gnome with the margarita, lounging in his lawn chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I gave Larry a little wave, extra sweet, as if I didn’t know I’d just declared war.

He stared at me, his face turning the color of a sunburned tomato, and then, without a word, he sped off.

I let out a laugh so loud it startled a squirrel in the oak tree. “That’s right, Larry. You can’t touch this.”

For a few days, I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d let it go. Silly me. A week later, there he was again, stomping up to my door with that clipboard, wearing his HOA President badge like he’d been knighted.

“Mrs. Pearson,” he began, not even bothering with pleasantries, “I’ve come to inform you that your mailbox violates HOA standards.”

I blinked at him. “The mailbox?” I tilted my head toward it. “Larry, I just painted that thing two months ago. It’s pristine.”

He squinted at it like he’d found some imaginary flaw. “The paint is chipping,” he insisted, scribbling something on his clipboard.

I glanced at the mailbox again. Not a chip in sight. But I knew this wasn’t about the mailbox. This was personal.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “All this over half an inch of grass?”

“I’m just enforcing the rules,” Larry said, but the look in his eyes told a different story.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sure, Larry. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He turned on his heel and strutted back to his car like he’d just delivered some life-altering decree. I watched him go, fury bubbling up inside me. Oh, he thought he could win this? Fine. Let the games begin.

That night, I hatched a plan. If Larry wanted a fight, he was going to get one. I spent the next morning back at the garden store, loading up on more gnomes, more flamingos, and just for fun, a motion-activated sprinkler system.

By the time I was done, my yard looked like a carnival of absurdity. Gnomes of all sizes stood proudly in formation, some fishing, some holding tiny shovels, and one, my new favorite, lounging in a hammock with a miniature beer in hand.

The flamingos? They’d formed their own pink plastic army, marching across the lawn with solar lights guiding their way.

But the pièce de résistance? The sprinkler system. Every time Larry came by to inspect my yard, the motion sensor would activate, spraying water in every direction. Totally by accident, of course.

The first time it happened, I nearly fell off the porch laughing.

Larry pulled up, clipboard ready, only to be met with a stream of water straight to the face. He spluttered, waving his arms like a drowning cat, and retreated to his car, soaked to the bone.

The look of pure outrage on his face was worth every penny I’d spent.

But the best part? The neighbors started to notice.

One by one, they began stopping by to compliment my “creative flair.”

Mrs. Johnson from three houses down said she loved the “whimsical” atmosphere. Mr. Thompson chuckled, saying he hadn’t seen Larry so flustered in years. And soon, it wasn’t just compliments. The neighbors started putting up their own lawn decorations.

It began with a few garden gnomes, but soon, flamingos popped up all over the cul-de-sac, twinkling lights appeared in every yard, and someone even set up a miniature windmill.

Larry couldn’t keep up.

His clipboard became a joke. The once-feared fines became a badge of honor among the residents, and the more he tried to tighten his grip, the more the neighborhood slipped through his fingers.

Every day, Larry had to drive past our gnomes, our flamingos, and our lights, knowing full well that we’d beaten him at his own game.

And me? I watched the chaos unfold with a smile on my face.

The whole neighborhood had come together, united by lawn ornaments and sheer spite. And Larry, poor Larry, was left powerless, just a man with a soggy clipboard and no authority to back it up.

So, Larry, if you’re reading this, keep on looking. I’ve got plenty more ideas where these came from.

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